Heroes Are Not Born...Heroes Are Made

[Dan]

I'm going to put all my rps in this thread because they're a series and I'm all anal like that. Gregg, be nice or I'll kick you in the nuts.

 

[Dan]

Part One: Double-Edged Sword

The CSWA Hall of Fame.

Just behind a crowd of onlookers one of the CSWA’s newest signings, Scott Riktor, stood arms crossed, intently listening to Stephen Thomas’ proposed Anniversary spectacular. An Ultimate Gold Rush Match, an immediate chance at a championship. For someone with the storied history of Scott Riktor, written in gold plates adorning championship belts, news like this was the best kind. And that’s why he hovered behind the crowd with a smile etched on his face until the speech was over, then walked off before he was recognized.

Scott met up with his wife, Christina, just outside the building. She was nearly six months pregnant now and showing. They talked on the way to their car, which they drove from Florida because they wanted to take every precaution with their first child.

“Was it really so big that he couldn’t just tell you over the phone,” Christina asked.

Scott nodded. “He just tossed out free title shots like Halloween candy in there. Some kind of four ringed battle royal with an open contract. He’s either going to instantly rebuild his company or kill some kid and end all hope altogether.”

“It’s a good thing you get paid per appearance then, huh?” Christina was joking with her husband but Scott didn’t find it all that amusing. Whatever euphoria that he was experiencing during the announcement had faded away once he truly realized what was at stake, not a championship belt, or four, but an entire company.

Scott knew a thing or two about running a wrestling promotion now since agreeing to become LoC’s Legacy Commissioner and forfeiting his right to compete for the championship bearing the same name. This move by Stephen Thomas wasn’t revolutionary, it was desperate. The truth turned Scott’s stomach. He wasn’t told over the phone because he probably wouldn’t have shown up if he was. Now, he felt he was obligated to.

“I’m sorry. Bad joke.”

Scott rubbed his wife’s shoulders. “Nah, it just got me thinking is all. This could wind up being a very bad thing.”

“Then don’t let it.”

It always sounds so much easier than it really is.

 

[Dan]

Part Two: What Makes a Man a Champion?

What makes a man a champion?

This singular thought ran through Scott Riktor’s head as he and his wife, Christina, began their long trek home from the CSWA Hall of Fame. What makes a man a champion? Scott looked back at his wife, who was fast asleep in the backseat of the car with his unborn child in her womb. For the first time since he began this career in professional wrestling Scott Riktor wondered if the gold mattered in the grand scheme of things. Could any amount of championship belts make his life complete?

It was the late Eighties and Scott Riktor had just broken in to the wrestling business, making his debut in World Independent Wrestling. He would use the name his father did during his career, Seth Phoenix Jr. It was something to draw just a little more interest in him. Seth Sr. had been a multiple time world champion and Scott, just like his other two brothers, wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. Shawn, Scott’s older brother, was in Japan where he had already become a cult phenomenon. That was too far away from home for Scott, he wanted to make his name in the States.

Seth Phoenix Jr. would soon be forgotten by everyone when Scott quickly did make a name for himself. That name was Rage. He won his first WIW World Championship at the age of twenty and would win it another four times before moving on to bigger and better things. Still, that first title win always stays with Scott. He won it inside a dank, poorly lit gymnasium surrounded by a couple hundred wrestling fans. Two months and several title wins later, Scott was “discovered” by Chris Horowitz.

Backyard wrestling, Softcore Revolutions, Deathmatches, Electrified cages; they all came along with Horowitz’s IWF. Scott was never your basic hardcore wrestler. He didn’t enjoy getting smashed in the face with a fluorescent light bulb while blood thirsty fans screamed “Holy ****!” over and over again. The IWF was a stepping stone for Scott, but it was also where Rage would become a household name for wrestling fans.

From there Scott moved to Colorado and the Rocky Mountain Wrestling Federation. He began using his real name and picked up another five World Championships, along with a run holding the Mile High Championship. Scott fought off Larry Tact, Suicide, Nemesis, Big D, and a slew of other men who would go on to do great things in other federations. He won and lost that top belt on five separate occasions but that wasn’t the only thing Scott would leave in the RMWF.

Scott Riktor left his career there when Larry Tact nearly crippled him. Scott’s leg was wedged inside a steel chair and Tact came off the top rope. Tendons ripped, joints popped, and bones snapped. Scott’s knee was destroyed and then he was told the same thing about his career. Destroyed…in one solitary moment.

“Honey, can we make a pit stop?”

Scott snapped back into reality. “You okay, Chris?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “I just need to stretch my legs. I’m getting cramps and the baby’s kicking like crazy.”

Scott looked at his wife through the rear-view mirror. She smiled. “He kicks pretty hard. Daddy better watch his back or this little guy’s gonna drop him for the three count one day…but Daddy will be old and wrinkly by then anyway and Mommy will have to find someone else to wrestle with.”

They shared a laugh at the proposition of saggy pecs, severely scarred foreheads, gigantic cauliflower ear, and blown out knees to come. All of which were the rewards of a long and illustrious career as a professional wrestler.

So what makes a man a champion?

Gold?

Or something more?

 

[GreggG]

(CUT TO: "The Big Man on Campus" JJ DeVille, wearing his NC State varsity jacket, is walking amongst a sea of football linemen in one of the campus' weight rooms, pumping large amounts of iron.)

JJ: Mr. Riktor, I'm not sure if you know who I am, but I certainly know who you are. I'm a really big fan of your work and, of course, a really big fan of your wife, Christine. Don't take that the wrong way, Mr. Riktor -- I'm not looking to hit on her or take her from you or anything like that. I do fine enough on my own right here at school. But I think all of us will admit that's she's certainly a really stunning, beautiful woman, in a reformed prostitute sort of way.

Now, Scott Riktor... IF THAT IS INDEED YOUR REAL NAME... I've taken quite an interest in your series of promos. The ones entitled "Heroes are not born, heroes are made." And the other where you askthe question of what makes a man a champion.

I find it interesting, Scott, that you have to even ask yourself that question. I mean, after all, I was one of the few people who regularly tuned in to the IWF and to the Rocky Mountain Wrestling Federation, that is, when I could pick them up on a small-powered UHF channel broadcast out of Charlotte, the channel which usually broadcasts nothing but Baptist Church testimonials. It's a shame that you never got to wrestle in a league that had an actual cable deal, Scott, because the world missed out on a pretty talented star, no matter how you billed yourself as.

But, Scott, I have to wonder to myself... why is it you're going to the CSWA Hall of Fame in Greensboro? Why is it that you need such a prattling, lame slogan to sell yourself, like something you saw on a bumper sticker your wife unsuccesfully tried to steal at South of the Border. Why is it that you are even asking yourself What Makes A Champion, considering your success in some semi-professional wrestling leagues around this country.

(An offensive lineman walks past JJ.)

LINEMAN: Hey, JJ, go get 'em at Gold Rush!

JJ: Will do, Porterhouse! (JJ turns back to the camera.) I think we all know the reason for this Scott. It's because you don't belong here, in the big leagues, the sport's biggest stage.

I do, Scott. Y'see, I grew up not too far from the CSWA Hall of Fame, around the corner in Greensboro, actually. I used to pester my uncle to take me there, all the time. I'd go and feel inspired, and dream that one day I'd get a chance at stardom.

And I made that chance happen. Y'see, Scott, I wasn't one of these guys behind me. I was the kid who was always the first one cut from the team, the waterboy, the guy the football team threw the jockstraps on. I did't have a lot going for me, and I was rejected from the CSWA several times, but then I got my big break.

Yes, I was the laughingstock of the sport. I was the kid with an Andrew Ridgley-mullet, the kid with a dangling earring last worn by Cher, the kid who had no clue about anything, except that he was incredibly lucky to be in the employ of the two greatest wrestlers who ever lived, Eddy Love and Troy Windham.

I faced a lot of adversity, Scott. I doubted myself and, to cover for my fears, would do absolutely anything to get on television. I was consistently outmatched, I was consistently outgunned and I was consistently a loser in the ring.

But, Scott, I started to get better. And all the people used to seeing me lose... they overlooked me. And I ended up taking advantage of that, and I ended up winning my fair share of matches. I became a tag team champion, with my mentor Troy Windham. And then, after I nearly did the impossible and singlehandedly beat the <> Cutters, a legendary tag team... I challenged my boss Troy to a match.

He overlooked me, Scott. He was cocky, and he was smug... go figure. And I ended up beating him 1-2-3 in the middle of the ring.

Scott Riktor, THAT'S how you become a champion. By working hard, by getting through adversity, and by overcoming yourself.

(One of the football players, a star running back, is having trouble bench pressing his 200-pound weights. JJ turns around and grabs it for him and puts it on the rack without much of a problem.)

RUNNING BACK: Hey, thanks JJ! Can't wait to see you at Gold Rush!

JJ: No problem, D'Brickshaw. (JJ turns back to the camera.) Y'see, the people in this weight room -- they're the type of people who, back in high school, made my life a living hell. The kids who stole my books, the kids who stuffed me into a locker. But now, now they respect me. Because they recognize that I have what it takes, Scott, to become the champion that you can never become.

I know I'm the darkhorse. The Ultimate Cinderella Story. No one is giving me much of a chance in this thing.

But the next time you go to the CSWA Hall of Fame, Scott... you're going to see my face immortalized in marble. Because I'm going to beat Troy Windham one more time... and I'm going to walk out of this thing as the Unified Champion. (FTB)

 

[Dan]

Part Three: Beating the Odds

Scott gazed at his wife during lunch at the Cracker Barrel. She was having a weird craving today; grilled-cheese and bacon sandwiches that she was dipping into a small bowl of fried apples. It was an all out assault on the taste buds complete with an orange cream soda. Christina had developed some strange quirks lately, one which she was displaying at that very moment. She now ate her food like someone who had done some serious time upstate. Scott was afraid that if he attempted to snatch a French fry he might lose a finger in the process, so he kept to his side of the table. All of this makes her slightly less than the preeminent conversationalist and because of that Scott trailed off into his own thoughts once again.

Six months ago he was a different man, before he heard the good news. He had the freedom to hop a plane and fly anywhere in the country on a whim to do what he loved best, wrestle. Since the news, Scott’s appearances have been short and sweet in any company other than Legacy of Champions. He had basically called in his last few New Frontier Wrestling matches. It was plain as day on the video footage he went back and watched later, utterly embarrassing to someone who prides himself so much on being the very best.

This was a man who did the impossible. The doctors told him he’d be lucky if he ever walked again without the help of crutches. Scott Riktor walked. They told him he’d never be able to step into the ring again. Scott Riktor wrestled. The bookers told him he wouldn’t draw anymore. Scott Riktor filled stadiums. They told him he could never be champion again, he was past his prime. Scott Riktor held the Legacy Championship longer than any other man to date and paved the way for a company that has taken the reigns of the wrestling world.

For a man like that to realize that his mind is somewhere else and because of that he is not the very best he can be…it’s a wake up call. Last week, after coming to grips with this, he stepped into the NFW ring with Alias and stole the show. That is what Scott Riktor does. He gets inside those ropes and he pulls a great match out of anyone. The CSWA decided they needed that. They needed what Scott Riktor provided to every other company he’s been with. Scott knew that he was going to give it to them.

“Wha aru phinkin’ ‘bout?” Toast crumbs snowed down onto Christina’s plate from her lip as she once again brought her husband back to reality. Scott stared intently into her eyes and couldn’t help but smile.

“Nothing.”

Christina took a sip from the flexi-straw poking out of her soda bottle. “Sure doesn’t look like nothing. Do you want to talk about it?”

Scott picked up his cheeseburger, shifting his discarded vegetable toppings to the corner of his plate. “It’s nothing, really. Just thinking about the match is all.”

“Are you worried?”
Scott shook his head. “Not really,” he said, “At least not for me. It’s just…”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”